


Sidereus

by PakDefect



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I speedran this fic and it shows but man, M/M, Mutual Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, ZADR if you squint, angst if you squint, happy birthday Sara mwah, i once again have not read a single word of what i wrote so i apologize if its bad LOL, i really just wanted an excuse to write about stardust but then i DIDNT, ill fix that - later but not rn i cant be bothered, im bad at dialogue and characterization when speaking so whew sorry about that, its just a block of text innit, lowkey though - Freeform, no beta we die like men, not formatted in the slightest, rushed ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29937837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PakDefect/pseuds/PakDefect
Summary: His voice cracks, the trembling to his lower lip and shoulders does something funny to Zim and he hates it. Hates how it makes him want to turn the planet to an ashen wasteland, find whoever made Dib feel this way, and have them suffer horrors beyond his Irken imagination. Hates how angry he is for the human in front of him, desperately wiping away tears before they have a chance to fall and change the nature of their fragile relationship.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	Sidereus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BamSara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BamSara/gifts).



> I was going to originally make this a happy little fic for Bamsara's birthday but then i remembered. its bamsara. so here's some ambiguous hurt. whew, i'll write better next time man just wait till im about to sleep.  
> catch me at [Pak Defect](https://thepakdefect.tumblr.com/)

The sound happens just often enough nowadays to be considered relatively normal for their relationship, although the conditions under such a meeting are usually because the world is crashing down around them and their pleas for help are silenced by the chaos. When he opens the door, he’s not surprised to see Dib there, pacing on the doorstep with his hands buried in unkempt hair. 

The human’s attention snaps to Zim in a way that leaves him experiencing secondhand whiplash and scrunching up what would be his nose because he’s certain that was a bone popping and-

“What was so special about these certain particles of stardust that decided to form me? And where along the line did they mess up? I’m trying, Zim, and it just isn’t working out like I want it to.”

The alien closes his mouth, considering what he should say next, but ultimately forgoes it when Dib begins to gesticulate with his hands and make sounds that don't really make sense to Zim. He recognizes it as a thing that is unique to Dib and has come to understand it- obviously, because he needs to know his enemy’s weaknesses and not because it was concerning.

“And it sucks because everyone looks at stars like yeah, those are beautiful. And they write songs and poems and epics about them but then they look at me like a piece of flaming shit on their doorstep that they can’t get rid of. I’m made of the stars, literal stardust and supernovas, yet I’m treated and looked at like—“

There is a pregnant pause where neither of them say anything- Zim is at a loss for words, still processing that anyone could possibly get to the human like this and Dib has too many words threatening to spill from his lips. His voice cracks, the trembling to his lower lip and shoulders does something funny to Zim and he hates it. Hates how it makes him want to turn the planet to an ashen wasteland, find whoever made Dib feel this way, and have them suffer horrors beyond his Irken imagination. Hates how angry he is for the human in front of him, desperately wiping away tears before they have a chance to fall and change the nature of their fragile relationship. But what Zim hates more than anything is the poison laden sentence that tumbles from the human’s lips and falls to a disgusting heap between them. 

”Like I’m nothing.” Is what he says. Like he’s nothing. As if Zim would waste his time on nothingness. 

Snatching Dib by the wrist and dragging him inside is a lot easier than it normally is and the Irken feels himself hating again, but can’t direct it at anything, so it sits there, festering like he’s used to. He all but throws them both onto the couch, facing one another before his hands are squishing the boy’s cheeks together. They’re barely illuminated by the tv’s screen glitching between scenes on a DVD Gir has watched to the point of oblivion but it’s more than enough to see how blotchy and swollen Dib’s face is or the way Zim’s skin blisters as tears make contact. 

“Your ugly face reminds Zim of the stellabrums in what you humans call Centaurus,” 

“Gee, thanks, Zim,” a weak glare is all the alien gets in return when he doesn’t let go of Dib’s cheeks despite the half hearted attempts for freedom. 

“What I mean is that you’re walking around with stars on your face and you don’t even know it, Dib-stink.” There is an unexpected gentleness in his touch as Zim wipes away tears neither of them will acknowledge had ever fallen between them but Dib can’t bring himself to feel bad about the pinpricks against his skin- or how it burns and makes him wince while Zim doesn’t so much as blink. It takes longer for the words to register than Dib is comfortable with admitting but once they do, he blinks owlishly and very intelligently asks: “What?” which gets the usual self satisfied, shit-eating grin Zim always gets when he knows something Dib doesn’t. He doesn’t know when he stopped hating that look and refuses to allow himself the time to think about it. 

“Stellabrums, Dib-smell. They’re creatures that carry planets across the galaxy.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” He sounds less like crying than he did moments ago and he mentally pats himself on the back for the small accomplishments that seem fewer and further between. The alien’s face falls into a carefully neutral look Dib recognizes he uses when he’s thinking about ways to make Dib ‘use that big head of his,’ but several beats pass before Zim opens his mouth to speak.

“Everything.” He knows, processes and understands all of what he wants to say, but cannot formulate the words in a way that fully encompasses everything he feels when he doesn’t know how deep it goes. His hands- as dangerous and familiar to rending flesh from bone- are tender as they trail a feather light pattern on freckled skin, ignoring what the subtle hitch of breath from the human does to his innards. He has been disregarding how the feeling coils around his throat and squeezes, and it ignores that he doesn’t need lungs to breathe and suffocates him anyway, but he doesn’t want to get rid of the sensation. 

If it’s Dib taking his life and breath from him, then so be it.

“That didn’t explain anything.” The human groans as he sits up, feeling the onset of a crying induced headache not being made much better by whatever vague, cryptic thing Zim is trying to pull right now. He makes to stand but is met with a hand keeping him pinned against the armrest that digs uncomfortably in his back and pushing back yields the same results- unmoving. It’s pointless to resist at this point- Zim isn’t going to let him go until he says whatever he wants and Dib won’t leave the couch until evening because no one is going to notice he’s gone anyway so he’s in no rush to return to a house that isn’t home. 

“I know you don’t want the stars from Zim and the only thing I can give you is my presence,” The rumbling in Dib’s ears isn’t coming from him or the couch that’s groaning under the strain of movement, but from Zim who is slowly beginning to crowd into his personal space. “But I would never spend my time with something that has no value to Zim. You are not allowed to care what those pathetic, writhing worms have to say about you because they know nothing of what you’ve been through or have done to save them. They’re nothing more than filthy pig shit with a voice. If you’re going to rely on the thoughts and looks of others, come to me. Zim will tell you about every constellation you carry on that big head of yours because I’ve spent time learning that about you. I have seen you beaten and bleeding for these things, Dib, and there is no beauty in that fight.”

A pin drop could be heard in the silence that follows as Dib processes and Zim frowns at him. There isn’t anything he can say in this moment that will lessen Zim’s anger or the rumbling still reverberating between his ears, jumbling whatever intelligent thought he might’ve had into a cacophony of noises that spills out from his lips. His mind manages to run a mile a minute and not at all, still in its rapid movements for the comprehension of words seemingly beyond his understanding. Dib feels himself go through a multitude of emotions, none of which he can readily name, and sputters as Zim grips his head and yanks their heads together with a dull thud. 

“What the hell is your prob-!?” 

“Shut up, Dib. You may not wish for Zim to give you the stars- I’d give entire galaxies if you asked- but in exchange, I want-” He stops short of spewing human intricacies about emotions he’s not even supposed to have and closes his eyes, letting the anger drain out of him until there is nothing left but the choking feeling he has long since grown accustomed to. 

“Sleep. I want sleep.” He speaks softly, barely above a whisper because his actions leave so little to say and yet neither of them are understood and he’s left floundering in the middle of it all. How else can he express this damnable affection for his human if even standing at death’s door wasn’t enough? Removing himself from the other’s body is a monumental task that he doesn’t complete in the slightest, choosing to instead bury his head beneath Dib’s chin.

This was just another one sided conversation Dib resigns himself to letting go in order to process and analyze the meaning of words a moment too late, to neither ask nor tell of the secret meanings behind their words unspoken and leave their miscommunications to fester until it bursts and drowns them under the waves. But that’s all for another time they know is coming but refuse to talk about until it’s killing them not to. So they lay there as the DVD continues to skip soundlessly with nothing but each other’s breathing to listen to, and if their fingers intertwine somewhere along the way between sleep and wakefulness or they wake entangled within one another’s arms, then that, too, is for another day.


End file.
